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DISCORDS 



DISCORDS 



BY 

DONALD EVANS 



PHILADELPHIA 
BROWN BROTHERS 
MCMXII 



Copyright, 1911 

BY 

Brown Brothers 



PRINTED DECEMBER I. 1911 



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i\ 



©CI.A305041 



CONTENTS 

Monochromes 

Somnambulist: p. 1 1 
Nocturne In Red: p. 12 



Discords 

Tristesse : p. 15 

Nuptial Night : p. 16 

Amantes, Amentes : p. 17 

Tout Passe, Tout Casse, Tout Lasse: p. 18 

Portrait of a Lady: p. 19 

In the Boudoir : p. 20 

Silver Wedding: p. 21 

Divorce : p. 22 

Adieux, Paniers, Vendages Sont Faites: p. 23 

Cette Maladie Qui S'appelle la Vie: p. 24 



Snow Touching Woman 

Snow Touching Woman : p. 27 

Clouds Flying Across the Dark 

Souvenir : p. 35 

Silhouette: p. 36 

Jadis et Naguere: p. Z7 

Agnes Thorpe Speaks 
Agnes Thorpe Speaks : p. 41 



Epithalamies 

Kisses of Ice: p. 51 

Morning: Revealment: p. 52 

Cup of Wine : Recognition : p. 53 

On High Hills : Winds' War : p. 55 

Virgin Moods: p. 57 

Immortal Maiden-Mother: p. 58 

Golden Joy of June : p. 60 

Moonlight Violins : p. 62 

Dissolving Views : p. 63 

Last Orientation: p. 64 

Laud: A Sonnet: p. 65 

In Defense 

• In Defense: p. 69 

Songs Eternal 

Northern Nights: p. 75 

Resemblance: p. 7^ 

Sonnet Eternal : p.77^^ _, „ 

Quoi, Done, Les Rois Meurent-Ils : p. 7» 

Je Ne Vis Plus: J'assiste A la Vie: p. 79 

In the Gardens : Versailles : p. 80 

At Skagen : p. 81 

Underglooms 

Night-Song for Autumn: p. 85 
Monody: p. 86 

Peacock Feathers 

Placide Pours Tea: p. 89 
We Two At Table : p. 90 
Churches: p. 91 
Constancy: p. 92 
Government Bonds : p. 93 
Valse : p. 94 

Rondeau: Annisquam: p. 95 
Hundredth Chance: p. 96 
Roses, Roses : p. 97 



Dawn Chants 

Prolusion : p. loi 

Before Dawn : p. 102 

Lark-Song for the Morning- Star : p. 103 

^gean Isles: p. 104 

Song To the Spring Wind : p. 105 

At Walt Whitman's Tomb : p. 106 

Fulfilment: p. 107 

Preludes 

Awakening: p. iii 

Elegiac: p. 112 

Victor: p. 113 

Supreme: p. 114 

Dejection: p. 115 

Land's End: Cornwall: p. 116 

Futility: p. 117 

In the Morgue: A Dead Visionary: p. 118 

Unpursued: p. 119 

Irremeable : p. 120 

Creation: p. I2i 



MONOCHROMES 

In White and Scarlet 



In Memoriam 
Norwald Shapleigh 



SOMNAMBULIST 

LIKE a long winding-sheet unrolled 
Across the garden snow is spread, 
And silent in the midnight cold 
The pallid fountain rears its head. 
Around its gaunt base three poplars grey 

Stand hooded with a soft frost lace, 
And like tall ghosts they gently sway; 
Shapes of the grave their shadows trace 
On the great marble house' white face. 

The silver moon hath blanched to white. 
And fleecy clouds float shivering by. 

Out of the house into the night 
Glides a pale lady quietly; 

A Persian cat, cream-colored, stalks 
Behind her, while with bended head 

She slowly through the garden walks, 
Risen up from a downy bed, 
Lost in dreams she is hither led. 

Her night-gown gleams like ivory. 

Its silken folds round her limbs cling; 

O'er the snow she treads tremblingly. 
The bitter wind her blood doth sting. 

A bride-rose freezes in her hair, 
Her little feet are bare and white; 

She quivers in the icy air. 

And wakes with scream of wild affright, 
Bathed in a stream of pale moonlight. 



NOCTURNE IN RED 

♦•T^IS cold in my heart as the woods are cold, 

I Where the bleak trees quake in the bitter wind. 

The fallen leaves are a riot of red. 

But they are not warm, they are dead instead. 

'Tis cold in the woods as my heart is cold. 
And the kiss of death is borne on the wind. 

'Tis chill in my heart as the air is chill. 
And my thoughts are bare like the barren trees. 

A flame-flush spreads over the western sky, 

But the fire comes only when day must die. 

'Tis chill in the air as my heart is chill 
With desires that are frozen like the trees. 



DISCORDS 



To 

O. F. Theis 



TRISTESSE 

WHY must joy come to sadden me, 
And lure me from the neutral gloom 
That holds my soul dark pitymgly 
From desires that can never be; 

Why must hope break into my room? 

I had a smile to greet the blight 

Of every longing of my heart. 
Wild winging birds that took to flight, 
In long, low curves they passed from sight. 

Silently watched I each depart. 

Why must the birds {\y back again, 

And circle high above my head? 
Thought of recapture is so vain, 
Why must my peace be turned to pain; 

What has life to give when one is dead? 



15 



NUPTIAL NIGHT 

WE are alone; the marriage-knot is fast; 
The door is closed against the world outside. 
Nothing now stands between me and my bride, 
The fatal, fruitful midnight comes at last. 
We grope toward a kiss; escape is past, 
But for a moment may we still abide 
Possessed of our own souls, and then love's tide 
Sweeps us to seaward strangled and aghast. 



16 



AMANTES, AMENTES 

MY friend became a haughty beauty's slave, 
Laid waste his life in vain pursuit of her. 
He was her jest, and never once did stir 
One meagre heart-beat for the love he gave. 
Devotion held him hers down to the grave, 
And though we scoffed because he bore each slur 
We knew his worship on him did confer 
The patent of a fine soul, strong and brave! 

My love, body and soul, is wholly mine, 

But for all that, sadder my state than his. 
More cruel than a beauty's cold disdain 
Is her well-meaning smile, stupid, inane. 
Who has no other offering save her kiss. 
Yet no one names me brave and strong and fine! 



17 



TOUT PASSE, TOUT CASSE, TOUT LASSE 



H 



OW sad it is since thou dost so love me, 
And since I live only to have thy kiss. 
That our hearts' wishes never can agree, 
How sad it is! 



How hopefully we start the search for bliss. 

With eager feet we hunt it hungrily, 
And yet the perfect joy we always miss. 

How sad it is whate'er I want of thee 

Fate makes thee wish another thing than this. 
And happiness lies slain in infancy, 
How sad it is! 



i8 



PORTRAIT OF A LADY 

AND he may not divorce her; she will weep 
At the first breath which hints that they should 
part, 
Nor may he teach how marriage might with art 
Be kept sweet. When he talks she goes to sleep. 
No word he utters ever enters deep, 

Or makes a moment's impress on her heart. 
Except "I go," which pierces like a dart, 
And sends her tumbling helpless in a heap. 

Her soul's wish is not hard to satisfy; 

She asks him not to win a victor's crown, 
Instead she sets a simple task to do; 

That he will think of naught save her alone. 
And as reward she lisps eternally, 
"No woman else could half as much love you." 



19 



IN THE BOUDOIR 

O PRETTY women, were ye only wise! 
Your silks and scents and your soft little lies 
Whispered with real tears standing in your eyes 
Make love seem more than costly artifice. 

Your tender mouths that give a thousand sighs 
Might with one word to soaring enterprise 
Inflame a man's heart till he touched the skies, 
O pretty women, were ye only wise! 



«) 



SILVER WEDDING 

THE marriage vows still hold. Love grows not less. 
Hymen has triumphed. We are closely bound, 
And find in compromise a meeting-ground. 
We have no vulgar difference to confess. 
But of the golden coins our souls possess 
We squander every penny in the pound 
To buy this stagnant peace that wraps us round. 
And fills our days with mordant emptiness. 

This is the tasteless meat and acid wine, 
Wherewith we celebrate the passing years, 
While grief sits guest with a few dried-up tears. 

O where are all the dreams of large design? 

There were so many, — and we worked out none! 
We had but this one life — and it is gone! 



21 



DIVORCE 

PITY that husband rather than his wife! 
Twofold his misery who would be free, 
While hers is simply fighting a decree 
That will divorce them, bed and board, for life. 
The threat to part is like a keen-edged knife, 
He must inflict the wound, the wounded s^ie; 
Yet he alone deserves your sympathy, 
And quite one-sided is their wedded strife. 

For though her tears are real and her grief deep 
She still seeks some one when she tries to hold 

This man who hates her in her arms' embrace; 

While he strives dumbly merely to efface 
A mocking memory that doth enfold, 

And for his labours loneliness will reap! 



22 



ADIEUX, PANIERS, VENDAGES SONT FAITES 

I HAVE no wish that we had never met, 
But had we only parted long ere this, 
While there was something left of love to miss, 
And golden moments we would not forget. 
We may not part now; we are in a net 
Woven by sodden years of quarrel and kiss, 
And from each other no escape there is, 
Nothing but stale reproaches and regret! 

When the first quarrel came it seemed like a jest. 
Our hearts were fresh, and love was strange and new; 

Both felt deep pain because the other cried, 
And, laughing then, leaped melting breast to breast. 

Would we had seen the wave before it grew, 
And said farewell while still we might with pride! 



23 



CETTE MALADIE QUI S'APPELLE LA VIE 

FIVE senses to enjoy impulses two, 
Hunger and love, — that is the sum of life! 
We spread it out through years of stress and 
strife 
In three dimensions; Adam did as you. 
The last man whose heart leaps to dare and do 
Will hear the same eternal two-stop fife 
That shrilly pipes its call to food and wife, 
And aping us will take the notes for new. 

We only fool ourselves; the gods above 
Smile at our grave pretense of being gay. 

Our struggle to ease hunger and find love 
Provides for heaven a most amusing play. 

The bill is on forever, my dear friend. 
And never will it change nor ever end! 



24 



SNOW TOUCHING WOMAN 



To 

Dewitt Miller 



SNOW TOUCHING WOMAN 

AH, you came. Let my man have your coat, — 
Cold out tonight. Well, here's an open grate 
And a soft chair that oflfers you its ease. 
Will you sit down? — but, first, a cigarette; 
There's scotch upon the table when you wish. 

You got my note? Perhaps you thought it odd 
That I should want to see you at rny club? 
Yes, it's a nice club, the best one in town, 
And these are fair apartments, too, in fact. 

Come, light your cigarette. What, not sit still ? 

Ah, then you do know why I sent for you? 

That's just as well. It saves us idle talk. 

My wife is at the opera tonight. 

I need not tell you that, of course, my friend, 
For we both know a place is saved for you 

In the same box which holds her as a guest. 
What makes you start? Come, don't move toward the 
door. 

Sit down again and light your cigarette. 
That we both know just makes the issue-point. 

You are her lover ... ah! damn you, don't deny. 
Do you think I'd jest about my wife's fair name? 

Last night as I came down the hall I saw 
You and her in the drawing-room. You planned 

Your rendezvous. Her hand was on your sleeve; 
I heard her murmur you: "Je t'aime, je t'aime, 

And you will hold me in your arms again. 
Do you know what they sing? 'Tis Pagliacci, love. 

You are my Silvio; I your bored Nedda. 
I will be sick, and we can leave the box; 

You have my carriage waiting; once inside, 
And I will make you king of all my soul. 

We can have hours together at your rooms — 
O fill them up with roses ere I come." 

Then I discreetly coughed. Sit still, I say. 
And don't look scared. I shall not shoot you down. 

I tell you this to save you lies to me, 

27 



They would make me angry, dropping off your lips. 

I much prefer a quiet hour's talk, 
That we may calmly view the triangle. 

Now, keep your temper; you have much to gain. 
You have my wife; that's something, so they say; 

But you have me to deal with; that's too bad. 
Here's a surprise! 'Twill make you think you dream. 

I will not stand between you and delight; 
Go to your rendezvous; then plan many more; 

I accept the liaison, wish you great joy, 
Agree to make no trouble, if, in turn. 

You keep the tongue of scandal from my house, 
And guard my honour as you would your own, 

You gentlemanly guardian! And, too, 
Breathe not a word to her of this night's talk. 

You will assent? Ah, you are very kind. Now I, 
I may resume the smile I always wear. 

That was a deep sigh that you just fetched out; 

You find your poise again, my gallant friend. 
And did you think that I would knock you down 

Like the outraged husbands that we read about 
In our morning papers? Pull you into court, 

Name you as co-respondent for divorce. 
And then leave the soiled lady on your hands? 

That is not my intention. I'll keep her, 
With your leave, of course, since she belongs to you. 

Now, you smile, too, a smile that is a sneer; 
You think me either lacking pride or weak? — 

Come, come, it rather galls, you must admit, 
To take your sneer, yet keep my own gorge down; 

However, I promised you immunity. 
Perhaps I take this course to shield my pride, 

Nor let the whole world know I am betrayed; 
Perhaps I once did care for her, my wife; 

Perhaps I once did promise to protect 
As well as to possess her. Still you smile? 

Well, these are merely topics for your thoughts 
To muse upon some hour you wait for her. 

28 



You would divorce her, though, now would you not, 

If you found her tripping toward the ^primr^e path? 
Yes, and so would every lover she will find. 

Born a coquette she's tinder to all flames; 
She likes to make a vow of constancy. 

And how she means it when it leaves her lips! 
She half swoons with the pureness of her love; 

But a new man comes, and she grows warm with joy 
To watch him drawing nearer to her lures. 

The glove is thrown, and she must conquer him; 
Her life hangs in the balance till she wins, 

And his flush tells afresh her potency. 
She's not unfaithful to you, you're forgot, — 

She has passed on to a new life, that's all; 
The latest lover gets her faithfulness. 

Yes, frail and fair and false she is; and yet 
Even the coquette has her right to live; 

But not with me, the wiser judgment rules, 
Let her be what she please, but not hurt me. 

Quite so, but then, you see, I did not know 
When I made her my wife all I know now. 

I loved not many women, only one. 
My whole heart's want became centred in her, 

I fairly grovelled at her worshipped feet 
Because she chose to give herself to me. 

And the fact remains I am her husband now, 
You are not .... so you do not understand. 

Suppose I did divorce her, where's the gain? 
I free myself, but does that solve it all? 

And would that sweep away the marriage-wreck. 
Undo the past that saw us two as one? 

Ah, don't you see? 

I have a better way! 
The day will come when ennui grips her heart, 

She will grow sick at soul of fervid words 
And alien arms that strain to fevered breasts; 

A twitching wish will steal into her brain — 
She will long wildly for lost purity. 

And to have lived a life of wifeliness. 

29 



Merely a mood, true, of her jaded sense. 

But are we all not jaded ere we die? 
Then there will come the creeping little thought 

That she has still her husband and her home. 
It will amaze her by its novelty, 

And frantically she will run to me 
To escape the ghosts that flock out of the past. 

Thus she gets back. 'Tis sordid, so j-ou think? 
But now, hear how my plan begins to move. 

As soon as her first strangeness wears away. 
And she resumes an even mind once more. 

Pity will be her feeling toward me. 
Pity because I have been so deceived. 

So blind to what struck at my manhood's pride; 
But not for long, slowly 'twill davra on her 

That I have known her inhdelitj-. 
The thought will stun her: she will blindly grope 

To find an answer to the mystery — 
Why having knowTi did I not thrust her forth? 

And then a flash will leap from nothingness. 
"He knew that I should need him at the end." 

Crash! she goes tumbling crushed with sense of shame. 
The final flicker of her coquetrj-. 

When she gets up she sees with clear-eyed gaze 
What sort of man she first gave herself to. 

And a respect that is both love and awe 
Will grow -within her: she will look on me 

As a young bride regards the man she wives 
^^^len she begins to grasp his inmost self. 

And feels before him a humility. 
Real man and wife at last! But late, indeed. 

Small victory in that, you interpose. 
With life all gone. Yet it is victory! 

For I have made life sweet again by force. 

She will be shriveled, does that matter much? 

I am quite proof against physical pain, 
I care not for her lips you find so sweet, — 

You will despise them in a year, perhaps. 
And they will so despise you afterwhile — 

30 



But I care that she see the difiFerence 
Between my manhood and your gallantry. 

That she long after her own self-respect. 
Which she had flung away and I picked up. 

Thus I am bound to conquer at the end: 
While one holds fast no house can wholly fall. 

She may not stumble to a tragedj" 
Is that not something for a graveyard crown? 

Ah! there strikes eight o'clock- Now you must go. 

A pretty woman does not like to wait. 
Your hat and coat. — and a libretto, too; 

'Tis Pagliacci, read it on the -way. 



31 



CLOUDS FLYING ACROSS THE DARK 



To 

Edwin Arlington Robinson 



SOUVENIR 

THE lovers have come and now are gone, 
And never a lover stayed with me; 
Yet I drop no tears as I sit alone, 
For I loved so much that I set each free, 
I held not one of them for my own. 

Straight toward the stars love lured my flight, 

Heart's desire hidden out of sight. 

Lip's thirst, soul's hunger killed outright. 

Real and rich was my love's way, 

To befriend, defend, blend and bend, 
Tend and mend, spend, yea, and lend, 

And when the day or the year had an end 
Send him away with no price to pay. 
With a few words spoken soft and gay. 

And my lovers for this 

Kind ultimate kiss. 
They all will love me for eternity, 

O cold caress of irony! 
That I gave my love keeps me aglow, 
And yet, — I would it were not so; 
I would that one had refused to go! 



35 



SILHOUETTE 

HE will deny it, but he would be gone, 
Of all women I am the most alone; 
Men die and leave their wives to widowhood. 
But at the worst death can be understood, 
They have a coffined corpse on which to brood; 
While I have nothing but my sense of fear, 
For still my husband lives, he is still here, 
And yet I know the end of love is near. 

He has not told me that he will forsake, 
Not for cruel blows my heart and body ache; 
He kisses me and plays with my black hair. 
And with a tender breath says I am fair, 
And yet, — and yet I know he does not care. 
No man could be more kind than he to me, 
But every smile is a hard mockery. 
Because within his heart he would be free! 

I cannot puzzle out this mystery, — 
Just one short year ago I was his bride ;_ 
He caught me up and placed me at his side, 
His wish to have was not to be denied. 
Why he has ceased to love I do not know, 
I never loved him then as I love now; 
More wildly dear he grows each day to me, 
While he now longs to leave me utterly. 

Could I but solve the reason I would bear 
Whatever woe may come; but my despair 
Is not to know, only to feel farewell 
Whene'er he lets his eyes upon me dwell, 
For deeply hidden in those ice-grey eyes, 
Weary with flaming in their yesterwise, 
A half-veiled look of pity I surprise. 



36 



JADIS ET NAGUERE 



w 



HEN disillusionment was fiercely new 

I wildly prayed at night upon my knees 
That I might cease to care he was untrue. 



My heart was bursting with love's agonies; 

I longed for a numbed sense to ease my pain, 
And a dull sleep to still my soul's lorn cries. 

I said unto my soul: — This grief must wane, 

And bring dumb hours when thou wilt feel naught, 
Except that the days pass in endless train. 

I did not know at what a price I sought 

To buy escape. But now I know full well 
How bitter is the peace that I have bought. 

With husband here I am content to dwell, 

And he has not changed; still untrue he is, 
And yet no hot wrath makes my heart rebel. 

My depth of degradation is in this, — 
That I feel lonely when he is away, 
And when he returns thrill under his kiss! 



37 



AGNES THORPE SPEAKS 



To 

Louise Jewell Manning-Hicks 



AGNES THORPE SPEAKS 

YOU wonder, you who were his friend, why I 
Who am so small was chosen as a mate 
By him who was a giant among men. 
We both know how the world rings with his name,- 
The architect, who forced the age to change 

And bow before the things he built in stone, 
Give up their worship of the commonplace, 

And take his fresh fair beauties in its stead. 
He had his whole profession's enmity, 

And yet he conquered them and stood their peer 
At two and thirty when death interposed. 

Recall I was his mistress, not his wife. 

He did not choose me. It was I chose him. 
He never asked nor begged me join his side, 

He did not lay his soul within my hands 
Because he felt that I would nourish it; 

'Twas I who clasped my hands about his soul, 
And would not let it go. 

I met him first o'er tea-cups one fall dusk 

In London when his star had yet to rise. 
I heard him talk; that was enough for me. 

I knew that I had stumbled on my god> 
If only I could find the way to him. 

For six months how I watched him as I could, 
And all the while became more sure of him. 

Sure I did want him of all men on earth. 
From house to house I tracked my lover down, 

And gloried as he grew in size for me; 
He promptly would forget I did exist 

Between the meetings; in each drawing-room 
The hostess must present him me afresh. 

My face he watched a moment, then his gaze 
Passed over and beyond me far away. 

I did not mind, for I laughed in my heart 
To see so clearly where my life joy lay. 

'Twas easy quite to see him, but to reach 

41 



And grasp him was a different sort of task. 
I made him like me for a hundred traits, 
He could not help it, for I laboured so; 

I saw he even loved me in his heart — 
Ah, but his will took hold and crushed his heart. 

It had not one chance in the world to rule, — 
'Twas written on him that he had no faith 

In me or in my strength to second him 
Through the wild strivings to attain his ends. 

And then he would not be a slave to love, 
He would not waste his life-flame on a woman, 

But hoard it for the temples he must build. 
He would have none of me his judgment spake; 

Ay, but you shall take all I flashed him back. 
Oh, what a burning scorn was in his eyes, 

He would not bend nor bow to Aphrodite; 
Now, this was what I saw, not what he said, 

His words were gracious and his manner kind, 
But just the same I knew his inner thought. 

I had not much to hope on, did I, friend? 
Do you think that stopped me? Not one bit of it. 

I loved him more for his contempt for me. 
Do you know what I did? 'Tis dangerous 

To tell — it may disgust your finer sense, 
And you may think I was a shameless woman. 

I did as they do, bold and shamelessly; 
I lured him with my body, — how it sang 

Its bride-chant till it fired the veins of him 
To bursting, and he could but open arms. 

Once well inside them I knew I had won; 
Yet ere he kissed me to a breathless pause 

I made a silent vow unto myself 
That if I ever saw I hampered him 

Even though it killed me I would set him free; 
Thus I became his mistress — at my wish. 

For me life was not a soft sinking swoon, 

With all the senses singing, drowned in bliss; 

The joy I had I built up bit by bit 
By the hard labour of my heart and brain; 

42 



And what a joy it was, unique, sublime! 

Love was not a fair palace of delight. 
Hedged round and hidden from the hateful world; 

Love was long years spent in the midst of things, 
Filth, hurts and hungers were the frame it had. 

I did not have my lover to myself, 
He stood out in the market-place, and fought 

With the blind mob to get their tight-clutched gold 
To rear his marble temples for their souls. 

My will and wishes had to bow before 
The cruel exactions of the piles of stone 

Before they rose in graceful symmetry. 
But since he sacrificed his will to them 

Why not mine too? Ah, but 'twas hard to learn; 
I had to think always before I spoke, 

Weigh what I did, keep the great end in mind 
Through every moment of the livelong day, 

And harmonize my soul to its demands; 
From morn to night ever alert to know 

At the right moment the intangible 
One thing my lord found missing in himself,— 

And needed as a dying man needs breath. 
Know ere he knew it, and supply it then 

To help him to triumphant mastery. 
To always know was difficult enough, 

But to supply it from my woman's self 
At a second's notice whatever it was, 

My friend, it often put me on the rack; 
Life seemed to lose its spontaneity, 

And I felt like a fawning hypocrite. 
For flesh and blood is only flesh and blood. 

The brain gets tired, the will grows fagged and worn; 
And yet by slow degrees I learned and learned, 

I saw my tree of knowledge bearing fruit; 
As I made headway how my soul grew big, 

Until at last the perfect hour was come, 
I gave him back the rib God took from him 

To fashion me, — he was whole man again. 
Do you not think I then felt like a queen. 

Tall as the great king that I stood beside? 

43 



In idle moments when my eyes surveyed 

The soaring structures that his genius built 
I*too with pride saw my own part l/i them. 

The last and crowning beauty he achieved 
Existed because I, I had been ther^'' 

To hold him up at the supreme crisis; 
His gladness was not deeper than my own, 

His hands had done it, but mine had held his. 

Within my breast I had a soul in bud 

Which might have grown into a perfect flower 
Had it been tended, watered, helped to grow. 

Mine were the hands to do this, with God's aid. 
Or with the man's, if his eye caught the bud 

And liked it well enough to make it open. 
Instead I went into his garden-close. 

The man's, and found him watering his flowers; 
He did not have a drop to spare for mine, 

And quick I saw he needed that I had 
To bring his roses to a perfect bloom. 

And so I stayed letting my blossom die, — 
Ah, I did well, mine was a single blossom, 

While here around me was a garden full. 
And best of all, the roses richer bloomed. 

More of them and more crimson, with my care 
Than if he had been gardener alone. 

I proved my woman's wisdom by my choice- 
Think what new fragrance came into the world 

By the small sacrifice of one white bud. 

He had a way of thundering forth: "I will 

In spite of all men do this thing I wish!" 
That made it seem the last word tongue could speak. 

As for the deed it was as well as done. 
Yet in his heart he never was so sure. 

He seldom saw the path before him clear, 
It was his will that carried him along; 

I learned this, and I found the part to play; 
When he had spoken then began my work, — 

To give his tone in answer back to him, 



44 



Keep the words ringing bravely in his ear, 

Confound him 'with belief when he had doubt, 

Add my will to jljis own when his was worn. 
Until he staggered breathless to the goal. 

To keep him mine I knew that I must be 

The rarest jewel of all womanhood; 
Were there another finer than myself 

To help him with his temples 1 must go; 
I saw this clearly, though he said it not; 

His deep eternal instinct for the best 
In everything would judge and cast me off. 

When this thought came upon me — ah! I quaked 
For a little minute. 'Tis no pleasant thing 

To realize that one is fighting lone 
Against her entire sex for him she loves; 

But only for a moment did I fear, 
For then my heart said: — I shall vanquish them, 

Because I love him as no other could. 
And so will work the hardest to keep him. 

And at that instant how I seemed to see 
Millions of women there before his eyes, 

Each ready to become his if he chose, 
I against all, and yet I trembled not, 

For somehow I was certain each would fail; 
What could they do that I with love and will 

To help my powers could not better do? 

Whenever any woman pleased my lord 

By an odd charm of body, voice or mind 
You may be sure I studied patiently 

Till I had seized the secret of her spell; 
Then steal it from her, plant it in myself 

That he I loved might the possessor be. 
So with a little insight and much thought 

I gathered up a host of human things 
With which a woman may delight a man, — 

They are so simple and they are so sweet. 
I had my twofold reason; 

First, I could share him with his ambition, 

45 



But not an instant could I bear to feel 
Another might afford more joy than I; 

And then the second reason, — since he was 
As faithful unto me as I to him 

It scarce seemed fair to his man's steadfastness 
That I should not move heaven and earth to give 

Him in return the uttermost loveliness. 

Never was I chased, captured, kissed, caressed 

Until my woman's heart was bursting glad 
Because the man I loved did want me so. 

Pride in me never shone out from his eyes, 
He often scarcely knew I was at hand; 

I could not make believe to run away 
Sure in the knowledge he would follow me, 

And so be wooed and won over again. 
Had I called: — Come and catch me, if you can, 

He would have faced about and walked away. 
It was his nature. That I knew at first. 

He would not hold me fast within his arms. 
Swearing to die ere he would give me up; 

That triumph girls' hearts long for was not mine. 
Mine was to cling and hold him, and I did, 

Which was the greater triumph. 

I made my body play its royal part 

In queenly service for him. He was blind 
Toward the elemental beauty of our lives; 

Despite his subtle mind he did not know 
That all begins and ends in one thing — sense. 

Yes, and that our souls only live and grow 
When we are kind and tender to the flesh. 

For him the kiss and the full rush of warmth 
That floods the body with a speechless joy 

Seemed not the priceless heaven-sent gift of God. 
Ah, but I pulled him down within my arms, 

And made him take love's clear fresh balminess 
Until he was renewed and strong again. 

Between my breasts he buried his defeats. 
And for the moment thought of naught but me. 

46 



How he resented that I pulled him down. 
Fought against listening to my siren songl 

I never could convince him I was right, 
I do believe he hated me at times 

Because I had that power over him. 
He did not see I used it for his good. 

I kept my body exquisite for him, 
And danced for hours on end to charm his eyes 

Until he had forgot his shattered hopes 
In crying hunger for the pulsing me, 

And then — and then I fed him. 
These little hands, these feet, my lips, mine eyes. 

And all the rest of me that hidden is 
Were used by me to minister to him. 

I was his grateful cup of golden wine. 
And when he drank I cooled his aching throat. 

Each night I made the morrow possible. 
Often I h.y along his side 

When he was nearly dead with weariness 
From head to foot just softly touching him, 

Then he would fall asleep. 

Now he is dead, and I am left alone 

At six and twenty with a life to lead 
On, on without him! Bridges burned behind! 

I cannot now return to my old friends. 
When I went forth with him that finished me; 

The ship I gladly sailed on is a wreck, 
And I am cast upon a mid-sea isle 

Without a hope of rescue. 
Do I regret? Yes, day and night I do, — 

That I had but one heart to love him with, 
One brain to think out what he wanted most. 

One life to give him — ah! I would that I 
Had been possessed a thousand times more youth. 

More strength, more beauty to have poured out all, 
All prodigally for his single use. 

That is the answer I send up to God! 



47 



EPITHALAMIES 



To 

Leah Winslow 



KISSES OF ICE 

THIS midnight stillness warms earth's frozen veins, 
Now at her drained heart the blood is stung; 
The wild wind-waves that ravage the bare plain 
Are tender to the queen no longer young, 
Over her gaunt frame like sheets of flame are flung. 

And she whose brow was aged ere time began 
Close at her heart still feels love-longing ache; 

No cry escapes her stiff lips drawn and wan, 

Though with the cold the shivering forests quake, 
In her vast dream her woes her empire make. 

The hard white grass cuts into her pale cheek, — 
'Tis joy to feel the sharp quick lashes sting! 

A blissful bride suddenly awed and meek. 
Lost in the mazes of her wondering 
That love should whisper half so sweet a thing! 

Out of the north there comes a breath of ice. 
Its kisses bathe my naked panting breast; 

And slim hands mingle with the fall and rise. 
Marking the seething of my soul's unrest, 
While long lithe arms have fellowship confessed. 

Tumultuously round me they have wound 
With ichor throbbing in their gleaming white; 

A low clear voice utters seraphic sound, 
Exalted harmonies of fearless flight 
Rhapsodic to the far Elysian light. 

Through the long night I have stood worshipping 
With numbed limbs against her icy gown. 

The flawless fulness of her murmuring 

Startles the silence with its god-like tone. 
Rushes of life about my brow are blown. 

Oracular the music of my bride, 

Austerely chanting love ineflfable; 
And calm and free and full flowed in the tide, 

Which caught and held us in its sea-spun spell: 

Glad glimpses of the unattainable! 

51 



MORNING: REVEALMENT 

MORNING'S quick steps lly o'er the pallid ground — 
Yet O the hre which soars within my soul! 
I feel transparent against the world around, 
Though from the hills their dusk veils backward roll, 
And the young moon hath well nigh reached her goal. 

Sweep on, O straining firm-limbed silver girl! 
Virginal victress in thy first love-quest, 

Serenely sailing mid the mad star whirl, 
Now calmly sinking in the slumbrous west, 
After love's dalliance soft will be thy rest. 

Lo! in the east there is arisen fair 
A marvellous star whose crystal purity 

Hurls maiden might against the warring air; 
And throned alone in matchless majesty 
Holds o'er the land her girlish empery. 



52 



CUP OF WINE: RECOGNITION 

WILT thou go forth and see the dawn with me,— 
Drink from the goblet flushed with crimson 
wine ; 
With clasped hands confessing wordlessly 

The love which should, yet cannot make thee mine, 
And ever keeps my eyes from seeking thine? 

I know we cannot be together long. 
Yet on the silence of the chastened air 

Let us lift up our voices loud and strong, 
A song to love, which only we may dare 
Who know that in that love we may not share. 

O highest reaches of the heart of man 
When love hath stood forth naked, without flaw! 

O glory of the life Promethean 

When self hath sunk away in breathless awe! 
What can we not do — for we felt, we saw? 

If we who know how much life has to give 
Could only barter both our lives away 

That all might know, — and then awake to live 
On the fair dawning of another day, 
Alas, my longing leads me far astray! 

peerless bride, my love is nothing small, 

I could not meet thy eyes' frank level gaze. 
And not feel braver than to flee fate's call, 
Though she lead down through melancholy ways. 
Thy love must give peace to the dolorous days. 

1 do not think I do thee injury, 

Though thou may'st to another now belong; 
I could not even speak the name of thee 
To whom my lips have offered up this song. 
Surely in song love may mount clear and strong. 

53 



And I am glad thou hast no thought of me, 

Since we could naught, only let weak tears flow; 

That all my joy lies in my love of thee 

I would rather that thou shouldst never know 
Than that ever my lips should tell thee so! 

Once and once only heard I thy low voice, 
And then our words were wed over Sydney's fame. 

That purest soul that took its uttermost joys 
In poignant plaints unto a star-lit name, 
O that my song might grace thee with the same! 

That once thy voice broke silence is enough; 

My body quivered echo to each word, 
I stood overpowered by the breath of love, 

And grew more faint at each new sound uttered; 

It was like pain; I fled — no more I heard. 



54 



ON HIGH HILLS: WINDS' WAR 

LIFE is too large, too wide and manifold 
For any man to shape its countenance. 
We count as nothing, love, we cannot hold 
The tireless young limbs from the swoonmg dance; 
Let us be glad they may have such pleasance. 

But finer far will be our joy, our doom, 
Ecstatic crucifixion for mankind! 

When groping in the sunless fields of gloom, 

Splashed with white light love's crystal we shall hnd, 
The unconquerable empire of the mind! 

For shall we not be climbers of high hills. 
Deserted ere half the ascent is made! 

Shall we not feel those sheer immortal thrills 
Dart through our bodies, with the winds war swayed, 
And look upon the sun's face unafraid? 

Shall we not give our heart-beats one by one 

For the great thirst while fate around us clmgs; 

Shall we not think we well life's web have spun 
When at the last eternal beauty sprmgs 
From out the chaos at the core of things! 

My flood of joy has touched the heaven of song, 
I at the altar stand the boyish priest; 

We two alone of all the silent throng 
Bid to the rapture of this fair love-feast 
Set in the garden of the bridal east. 

O trembling girl, I feel thy hands and hair, 
Thy blinding kisses hide thy face from me, 

Life leaps out to us with one glad full flare, 
A golden calm kneels to us: we are free! 
Free, and yet bound fast for eternity! 

55 



O wondrous woof woven in the warp of fate! 
Triumphant calm will hymn thy sun's eclipse, 

Too gloriously glad for any mate, 

When into the swart night thy stark form slips, 
One last paganic paean on thy lips! 

Sometimes the knife of anguish pierces thee, 
Overwhelmed art thou; alone who can prevail? 

Then uttermost thou a tone more piteously 
Than ever moaned the grieving nightingale, 
Sadder to me than silence is thy wail. 

Yet in that wail lies the one happiness 

Which I, beloved, cannot share with thee; 

Gladly I take this dusk of vast distress 

Knowing that thou too watchest constantly, 
But thou, alas, hast no such thought of me. 

O sainted dreamer of high human dreams! 

wondrous voice of liquid clarity 
Crystalline as the drippings of cool streamsl 

AH that my soul hath even hope to be 

1 owe to thee, beloved, owe to thee! 



56 



VIRGIN MOODS 

MAD with life surging through my pulsing frame 
My heedless soul would brook nor bond nor 
thrall; 
A spirit-drunkenness, leaping like flame, 

Coursed through me like wild snatches lyrical, 
When my ears caught the far-off wonder-call. 

The western hills breathed out the infinite. 
Luminous glowing, clad in garbs of gold; 

The blue mist of the valley deepened it; 

The wonder sound my young heart could not hold, 
I burned to see the unknown fields unfold. 

I might have wandered through eternity, 

Nor ever found the thing for which I sought, 

For vague desires lured me on cruelly; 
I only felt a longing fever-fraught, 
Elusive as the shadow of a thought. 

Long had I writhed under the deadly goad, 
Blindly my eyes sought the invisible. 

Sometimes my thoughts would leave the bitter road 
Yet oftener my fears I could not quell, 
I seemed to conquer, but I always fell. 

I never knew how deep my misery 
Till thy form slipped between me and m3^ fall. 

Thy mild grey eyes gazed at me tenderly. 
Within their depths love lay dissolving all, 
And then I knew and claimed thee virginal. 

Up from the nadir I have mounted strong. 
Fleeter than flight of a swift-rushing wind, 

Seeking the music of a mighty song; 

For with thy love how could I fail to find 
The song that will liberate all mankind! 



57 



IMMORTAL MAIDEN-MOTHER 



o 



AWFUL terror of sublimity 

When one alone sways in the dizzy air, 
And knows no eyes can see true victory 
But his whose soul is large enough to bear 
The sight of the whole world below him there! 



I would rather be a beggar than a king, 
What joy is there in mere supremacy? 

If too exulting e'er I seem to sing, 

'Tis not through love of my own majesty, 
But that I may enthrone all men with me. 

That man may feel his own divinity, 

For fame itself would be too mean a thing 

To ofifer one who has known the love of thee. 
I should rather hear thy soft lips murmuring 
Than the loud praise a thousand years could bring. 

Life does seem hollow when comes the dim thought. 
Though I should live forever 'twould not bring 

Nearer one step thee whom long I have sought; 
My bridal the one song — the wondrous thing 
I could sing sweetest — I shall never sing. 

That I must do I but begin to trace, 
Yet I feel I have lived a lifetime now; 

As when worlds crack and crashing scream through 
space 
It crushes, overwhelms my pallid brow, 
To the world's heart I must get, blow by blow. 

And should I fail I only hope that I 

May calmly, bravely turn to meet death's thong; 

Fearless as I would live so would I die, 

Finding my joy that life endured so long. 
And that the best of life is sung in song. 

58 



And we can always shut the temple gate. 
And view without the blue sea hyaline; 

No clamor then could make us less elate, 
Nor rob us of our vestiture divine, 
When we have kissed life's lips at her pure shrine. 

Not that I care, for that were vanity, 
To think to sit the greater men among, 

But then unknown this grand life victory 
Unless my voice cleave through the stillness strong, 
I cannot but be sacrificed to song. 

Yet what were a more joyous sacrifice, — 
O I would die a thousand deaths for thee! 

The pangs of pain would be a paradise 
Drawn out through aeons of eternity, 
Immortal maiden-mother. Poetry! 



GOLDEN JOY OF JUNE 

THIS passing hour which we have given to love 
Hath wrested from fate's hands her fairest 
boon; 
From out December's pallid grey it wove 
The glittering gorgeous golden joy of June, 
Look, love, and live, — for it will fade too soon! 

Dost thou not hear that velvet summer sigh 
That falls and faints upon the muted air? 

A whisper now would burst eternity, 

A flame flares in the east too bright to bear, 
Behold the face of life, and O how fair! 

For us unfolded is a paradise, 
The wan west pales before the snowy light 

Of marble pillars lifted in the sky; 
The temple dazzles with dawn's golden might. 
And wears as crown the last star of the night. 

Illimitable lies the girdling plain 

Around this world of stone; a waving wall 

Of field on field of pale-green half-grown grain, 
Which soon will yellow for the hunger-call, 
The first-fruits of the fulness of the fall! 

Far in the west clouds' fleece rests on the hills, 
And through a gorge there steals a sleepy stream. 

Its murmur now the peaceful stillness fills 

With the vague languor of its morning dream, 
And on its breast it wears the first sun-gleam. 

Circling the temple with a crystal zone 
The stream winds on without the slightest sound; 

From the broad steps clear morn-dew drips adown, 
The stream hath gently kissed each thing it found 
On its long journey for loud ocean bound. 

60 



Long lawny sweeps of smooth green hide each bank. 
And backward creep within the quivering wheat; 

Tall leafy silver poplars stand in rank, 
With pale narcissi dreaming at their feet, 
And water-lilies haunt this cool retreat. 

Clear from thy brow thy heavy fragrant hair, 
Throw free thy throat's white wondrous purity; 

Let thy fair body taste this blissful air, 

And claim this proud demesne imperiously, 
O girl, take thou this June day's gift to thee. 



6i 



MOONLIGHT VIOLINS 



T 



ONIGHT the moon comes forth without a veil. 
The stars guarding her silver nakedness. 
Their lustre will with wan fatigue grow pale, 
While one long week she lies in June's caress, 
Soul swooning with her fragrant loveliness. 



Out to the eastward one can hear the sea, 
And after dusk another voice will rise 

Blending the sea's in soaring harmony, 
As through the whole wide width of heaven there flies 
The love-chant of this marble paradise. 

Within no light save where the gleaming walls 
Catch through some shaft a radiant flood of white. 

Which like a stud of stars glistening falls 

Where dancing forms bathed in the snowy light 
Sweep singing on through the long fervid night. 

The violins' quaint miracle of sound 

Will hold the swaying of entranced feet; 

Each straight young body to another bound, 
Limb touching limb in rhythmic seeking meet, 
While breast to breast their hearts riotous beat. 

Before the dawn the chant will die away. 
And odorous barques will bear them toward t':e sea, 

Sense-thrilled to greet, to meet the coming day; 
And in dawn's golden glory speechlessly 
First feel that love makes them for all time free. 

We too must pass and meet the lashing sea, 
This hour with its music now is gone. 

From out this land of laughter we must flee, 
Nor couch of down will softly bear us on. 
Come, love, we seek another sort of dawn! 



62 



DISSOLVING VIEWS 

THE sun hath crashed through the vast crush of 
clouds 
That overcast the east; the wintry skies* 
Bright lamp to drive away night's sable shrouds; 
And now unveiled the world before us lies, 
A wide-stretched shapeless malign sheet of ice! 

We cannot any longer cheat our eyes, 
The sun seeks not a hyacinthine bed. 

Our dream is slain in its own paradise, 
A faded flower with its fragrance fled. 
Here now behold this awful scene outspread! 

Ignoble clanging of a harsh-tongued bell 

Sweeps through the valley like a cutting pain; 

As when one hears the horrid howl of hell 

Scream through the darkness of the flowerless plain, 
This sound brings each man back to life again. 

The heavy smoke hangs like a stagnant mist, 
Hiding the grandeur of the hills' snow throne. 

And now the screech of wheels beginning hissed, 
The wheels that tear man's flesh unto the bone; 
Ugliness shrieks with glee to hear each moan. 

We too are caught within those clutching hands, 
We too must travel on that joyless way. 

Where dawn brings but the same quick-running sands, 
And night in pity hides the battered day, 
And hope seems like a memory grown grey. 

This is not life; for life is keen and fair, 
And soft its words fall on the listening ear. 

Like a boy's breath within a young girl's hair; 
But this wild shrieking sea of sound we hear 
Strikes dumb life's voice — we stand and stare and fear. 

This is not life; yet it drives us atwain, 

Our dream is dead; but only it is true, 
And being true it then must live again. 

We are mated forever; I am through. 
Our paths break now; this one short hour must do. 

63 



LAST ORIENTATION 

OTHAT one touch, one word thou migh'st but give 
To this poor song that droops for want of thee. 
Then longer than its language it would live, 
The mirror of thy passionate purity, 
Which in itself were immortality! 

O that my voice might be a soaring fire 
To blaze the glory of thy hidden name 

Within the alien sky, and then expire, 
And vanish in the darkness whence it came, 
My soul a rapturous sacrificial flame! 

The sweetest thing in life is to be loved! 

O day-break bride, go thou thy way, and I 
Will guard thy going, standing here unmoved; 

To linger longer were to wish to die. 

To be together were a joy too high. 

Life could not give a greater bliss than this: 
To snatch from love a moment's mastery. 

And then renounce it with a last swift kiss. 
Each daring with dauntless audacity 
To sail alone over the shoreless sea. 

We need not one another, for we love. 
And love shall be the highest crown of all. 

Though other things may from our lives remove, 
The temple we have built will never fall, 
Only the beautiful is eternal! 



64 



LAUD: A SONNET 

DEAR love, my love, a owe you many things. 
And not the least of these a tribute-word. 
It were but slight thanks for the crown conferred 
When with your love you made me lord of kings 
Within your heart, and wrapped your woman's wings 
Protectingly around me. Song has stirred 
Often for utterance, but you have not heard, 
Because when you are near 'tis your voice sings. 

To praise your character in sounding line 
Is doubly hard, for you have given me 

So much of you, and I have made it mine, 
That now to find any identity. 

Distinct, apart, — so close we intertwine. 
Beyond my power is. O fortunate me! 



65 



IN DEFENSE 



To 

Mary Upshaw 



IN DEFENSE 

ND thus the prisoner made his defense: 



A 



I killed niy wife; and killed her while she slept. 

I kissed her ere I killed her; then I sat 
Down by her bedside till the morning came. 

'Twas neither wrath nor hatred caused the act. 
It was because I loved her. She loved me, 

I was the first and last of life to her. 
To separate had grown imperative, 

Yet had I left her she would have gone mad, 
Stark, raving mad, or else sought to degrade 

Her soul and body, which had loved me so. 
Death would not have come grimly to her aid, 

Too writhing had been grief to let her die, 
And she had not the courage to seek it. 

It was ten years ago ?he came to me; 
I was a young physician full of zeal, 

She, a divorcee, drifting rudderless. 
Everything was inverted in her heart, — 

She longed for tenderness, yet laughed at it, 
Because she dared not hope that it would come. 

She had dammed up a thousand crying wants, — 
No woman ever lived who had had less 

Of what she wanted to fulfil her life. 
Her needs were endless since she enjoyed naught. 

So starved was she she did not even know 
Precisely what she wanted. Ah, so maimed. 

Twisted, cut, bleeding was this living thing, 
It almost was a life's work just to nurse. 

And bring her back to normal pitch again. 
Her nerves were wrecked, restlessness made her throb, 

Tears brought no quiet to her feverish breast. 

It was the topmost moment of my life 

When T did find this woman who is dead. 

I saw this tortured broken human being. 
And felt I could relieve her misery. 

69 



How I leaped to it, made her case my care; 

My medicine was love. It made her well. 
Within a year the change in her was marked. 

She nestled in the nest I made for her, 
Grew soft, smoothed-out, and sweetly young again; 

Ten years slipped from her in the short twelve months. 
And she became a woman finely poised, 

Full of the swift sweep of free heart and soul. 
When I saw this I then grew warm with pride, 

I felt a flush of triumph for my work; 
Here was the wilted woman I had found 

In bloom anew and fragrant. 

Finished my task I thought to say farewell; 
Her need of me was ended as I deemed, 

And I had my own life-case to care for, 
My own search for a woman who would make 

Her tenderness envelope me from harm. 
And stand between me and the touch of fear. 

But when I tried to go the way was barred, 
Barred in an awful way I recked not of; 

She loved me, and I had grown part of her, 
Part of her bone and being, and to stand 

Alone without me was impossible. 
True, I had made her a whole woman once more. 

Splendid and strong, but only with me by, 
With me away she just collapsed again. 

It was a frightful moment for us both 
When she first realized I wished to go. 

Never have I seen anyone shrivel 
So horribly from life to nothingness. 

I then knew I had made a huge mistake; 
For, as physician, I had found that she 

Needed a man's love and I gave it her. 
But I saw not that she when quite made well 

Would still continue in that self-same need. 

And so I could not leave her at the end. 

It was my error brought the case to this, 
And I resolved that I would watch it out; 

At least to some other closing. 

70 



Besides, I loved her, please remember that, 

Not as she loved me, but love just the same; 
Aline had its root in her real helplessness, 

Her every weakness closer touched my heart; 
But that alone would not keep me alive, 

I also am quite human and I need 
A woman's strength to help my man's weakness, 

Else I were more than mortal, which I am not. 
She made my heart glow, but she brought no fuel; 

It was a joy to feed her deep hunger. 
But I got nothing back except that joy. 

I was her nurse, but at the illness' close 
I too had need of nursing, don't you see? 

But she was still an invalid, alas! 

Since things were thus I simply took them so. 

This was nine years ago and from that time 
She has been happy to her heart's desire; 

There were no dregs within the cup she drained, 
I filled the goblet to the very brim. 

Ah, how I was her lover! Ask them all, — 
All men who know me, if I was not kind, 

Tender and true, if every little thought 
Was not of her, and what might please her most. 

They called us the immortal lovers, us! 
And never guessed the truth. 

I drew upon the future, and when dawned 
The day I was quite bankrupt, then I knew 

The hour to act had come; I said: Tonight 
She dies, but glad, still glad! For all that day 

I was more kind, kept her more at my side. 
And made each moment seem a sweeter thing. 

Through the long evening how we climbed up higher 
From joy to joy, and when the midnight came 

Never had she so tasted earthly bliss. 
Or felt such deep contentment in her soul. 

She crept within her bed and fell asleep 
With her image of me, glowing in her breast, 

Like an unborn child resting in the womb. 

I killed my wife, and killed her while she slept; 
But kissed her ere I killed her, as I said. 

71 



SONGS ETERNAL 



To 

Louis Mattson 



NORTHERN NIGHTS 



T 



HE night is cold, the streets are bleak and bare, 
I want red roses in my arms once more — 
The moon is gone and icy is the air, 
Thea the Wild, I stand outside your door! 



The moon is gone and icy is the air, — 

My heart cries out for your warm lips once more- 
Thea the Wild, I stand outside your door. 

Bid me within and banish my despair! 

Thea the Wild, I stand outside your door, — 
Full of sweet tangles is your unbound hair — 

Bid me within and banish my despair. 
Let my desire burst into flame once more! 



75 



RESEMBLANCE 

ONE dusk thy image for all time I caught, — 
Thou stoodst before me whitely garmentless, 
Thine eyes were flame and thy arms opened wide. 
While thy red mouth made sound deliriously. 
Thy tender flesh I gathered to my side 

Until thy heart against my heart did press, 
And in thy nubile body's mystery 

I found the speechless perfect joy I sought! 



7^ 



50NNET ETERNAL 

IT is not that I love thee any less, 
Which holds me back when I might so close be; 
Thy lips have opened, calling hungrily, 
And thy eyes fill with questioning distress. 
I stand away but to once more confess 

How my whole soul throbs with its pride in thee,- 
Still gaze I at my fortune wonderingly, 
For thou art near the stars in perfectness! 

O keen clean limbs! O little sweet fleet feet! 

O bright white thighs that are love's resting-place! 

O singing curves that make thy body's line! 
When and where was it first we two did meet? 

And how have I deserved of life this grace, 

Possession of thy womanhood divine? 



QUOI, DONC, LES ROIS MEURENT-ILS 

HERE in this heavy-curtained room 
We have shut the world out, you and I; 
You watch the dusk give a rose-stained sky, 
While I see your face fade in the gloom. 
Incense burns at your worshipped feet, 
Creeps up your gown, and steals through your hair; 
The touch of you grows poignantly sweet, 

And desire becomes too deep to bear. 
Our aching hands reach out to meet. 

Love brings us closer with each heart-beat, 
Yet you are sad: and I am not glad. 



78 



JE NE VIS PLUS: J'ASSISTE A LA VIE 

IF we had only stood forth side by side, 
And cast away all thoughts and fears save one, 
That death were better than to live alone, 
We might ere this have felt a turning tide. 
We might have conquered had we only tried! 
We are but human; with our wish once won. 
Even if fate overruled us with day but begun, 
For the short time together we had gladly died. 

Now we must clear the sorrow from our eyes, 
Outside the world is waiting our return 
To claim the grey and hopeless coming years; 

Forever we are cast from paradise, 
We may not linger longer, though we yearn 
At this last hour even for the joy of tears! 



79 



IN THE GARDENS: VERSAILLES 

GO, if thou wilt; thou tak'st my love with thee, — 
With my whole heart of love I set thee free; 
It matters naught, — thou wilt not forget me! 

Bend thou above another body's flame, 

Give to her my red roses in love's name, 
Thou still wilt be my lover just the same. 

Put thou between us many seas and lands, 

It will not loose thee from the silken bands 
That I have wound around thee with m,y hands! 



80 



AT SKAGEN 

THOU wilt not be my mistress? Then, good-bye, 
Thou canst not mate my heart's great love of 
thee; 
It was the test of trust to try thee by, 

Prove thy soul large as fair thy face to see; 
Thine is a scant love, — go away from me! 

Hadst thou given me thy life at just my call, 

Thy body and thy fate unquestionly; 
Hadst thou with smiling lips offered me all. 

Dared with a brave laugh my love's perfidy, 

I would have loved thee for eternity. 

And though thy faith by me had been betrayed 
How would grief the more poignant be to know. 

For having been my mistress unafraid? 

Since losing love when thou hadst loved me so, 
If thou hadst loved, would be the only woe. 

Women have asked of men in swearing troth 
The sacrifice of country, honour, fame. 

Despising them if they were e'er so loath. 
Why should not I too ask of thee the same. 
If thou didst love me what would matter shame? 

Thou wilt not be my mistress? Then, good-bye, 
Since it is so I wish thee not as wife. 

Thou venturest naught, and neither then will I, 

Yet hadst thou cut through fear with faith for knife 
I would have loved thee for the whole of life! 



8i 



UNDERGLOOMS 



To 

E. E. Johnson 



NIGHT-SONG FOR AUTUMN 

THE tuneless drip of the twilight rain 
Keeps time with my heart-beats as I stray 
Through streets where last spring I saw sunlight 
play. 
The chill wet benumbs my sense of pam, 
And sound of whispers that fade away 
Brings a voiceless close to this dead fall day. 

Night which drops down now on silent wings 
Wraps mist and rain round me tenderly; 
It shuts out the blue sky's cold mockery 

And shrouds the sight of all hateful things. 
Stars, streets and houses are hid from me, 
The world is sealed up in vast secrecy. 

Peace that has nothing with life nor death, 
Nor the sad irony of a dream, 
Floats out of the blackness until I seem 

Free of time and space to draw new breath. 
And here in the dark where no lights gleam 
With my soul I hold carnival supreme! 



85 



MONODY 

1WAS born out of rhyme. 
Out of tune 
With the time, 
And life's only boon 
Death will come soon! 



86 



PEACOCK FEATHERS 



To 

Abraham Merritt 



PLACIDE POURS TEA 

WILLOWY Placide with her cool kind hands 
Clasping the marvel of her oval face 
Makes of her drawing-room the great good place. 
Where, mid the quiet, one's tired soul expands, 
And catches glimpses of dim twilit lands, 
With silent winds that blow through unknown space. 
She fills the tea-cups with the faintest trace 
Of a smile to tell how she understands. 

Tender with sweet flesh her young vibrant frame 
Glows till 'tis luminous like golden glass. 

Her few words fall when the shadows mass 
Into dusk enshrouding the west's last flame, 

And the night as it comes put final seal 
On an hour's joy that was almost real. 



WE TWO AT TABLE 

WE two at table o'er gold bouillon cups! 
Our hands play with the napkins' snowy white, 
Or range the heavy silver forks aright, 
With the light heart of one who kingly sups. 
Around the cafe other diners are, 

We glance about, and then I look at her; 
I smile, — she laughs. Our eyes jointly confer; 
The world fades from us like a falling star. 

Fish, fowl and roast are brought on in their turn; 
I think an orchestra has played the while. 
Yet what they played I know not. All's one air. 

The finger-bowl! the bill! We homeward turn, — 
A smart drive in a hansom for a mile — 
Before I leave her she shall know I care! 



90 



CHURCHES 

THE churches in the old time rose on high 
Nearest to heaven of all man's works in stone. 
Above the other buildings of a town 
A tall spire soared and seemed to touch the sky; 
But it no longer greets the distant eye, 
Proud-rearing in the upper air alone; 
Sky-scrapers now, trade's temples, — huge, o'ergrown, 
Conceal the place of praise and prayer and sigh. 

Above where once only the cross stood out 
Roof-gardens flourish. Empty hearts forget 
The chimes rung far below. The dance is trod. 

Gay diners mock the future with a shout, 
And fleck the ashes of a cigarette 
Carelessly down upon the house of God! 



91 



CONSTANCY 

LIKE rose silk thy soft body is, 
Thy black hair hangs like heavy night, 
Thy mouth is red, thy throat is white; 
Dear lady, thou art all a kiss 

That lures to dreams of warm delight! 
Thy beauty is too rare for me, 
Only one boon I beg from thee. 
I merely ask for liberty. 

I swore a vow of constancy, 

sweet as sin it was to swear! 
A faint whisper upon the air. 

And it had passed from me to thee. 
Now wilt thou give it back to me? 
Once more I wish to hear the strain, 

A fresh pink ear, the same refrain, 

1 want to make the vow again! 



92 



GOVERNMENT BONDS 

IN twenty years .... we shall be free 
Beyond the reach of poverty's grim fears; 
We shall have saved a fortune toilsomely 
In twenty years. 

By day and through the night dream I and she 

How we shall travel as the fancy steers. 
Mix with the mountains; gay hearts, sail the sea 
In twenty years. 

In twenty years we end frugality 

To claim the golden joys long in arrears! 
And yet, alas! should we stiff -jointed be 
In twenty years! 



93 



VALSE 



IF the waltz would only last 
With its tune so bravely gay! 
Outside is the wintry blast, 
Where wind and the night hold sway. 
Here is the ball-room bright 

Warm and ablaze with light, 
And the gliding of girlish feet 

Makes life for the moment complete. 
If only the waltz would last 
With its tune so bravely gay! 

If the waltz would only last 

With its tune so bravely gay! 
Again I may fold her fast 

As the violins start to play. 
There is glow in my heart, not gloom, 

Lo! she blushes like roses in bloom 
As we sweep o'er the waxen floor. 

O what could one ask for more, 
If only the waltz would last 

With its tune so bravely gay! 



94 



RONDEAU: ANNISQUAM 



I 



DARE not kiss those lips of thine, 

Whose crimson fulness promise bliss; 
Their lovely curves that are divine 
I dare not kiss. 



To watch thy lips how sweet it is! 

Ever my wish to make them mine, 
And yet to taste means pain, I wis. 

For if I once did sip their wine 

I could do nothing else but this; 
To chains love would my life consign. 
I dare not kiss. 



95 



HUNDREDTH CHANCE 

O THERE was the choice of fhe hundredth chance, 
With the joy of the whole world if we won! 
As a comrade in arms had you cried: "Advance," 
What could our courage not have done? 
We had laughed, loved, lived ere the set of sun, 
And ended our day with triumphal dance. 
Had you only chosen the hundredth chance, 
And the joy of the world had won! 

f 



96 



ROSES, ROSES 

1^ was roses, roses underneath, 
And a rainbow overhead! 
Ihe sky was fair, for she was there. 
And not a word was said,— 
We did not even breathe. 
A '^"'^^d ^t the roses underneath. 
At the rainbow overhead. 
And love our footsteps led. 
O many miles that day we strayed, 
And were not once afraid. 
Nor knew how long we stayed. 
It was roses, roses underneath, 
And a rainbow overhead! 



97 



DAWN CHANTS 



To 

Comtesse Jeanne d'Invers 



PROLUSION 

IT is morning-time 
In the day-break land 
Of a dawning hope 
Of the widest scope 
For the heart and hand 
In an unleashed rhyme. 



lOI 



BEFORE DAWN 

ALL the east streaked with a golden band, 
And laughter lying in morning's eyes; 
The breath of bloom from the fresh sweet land 
That round about me lies; 
The deepening green of the tender grass, 
A world of wonder in each small blade; 
The early wealth of the forest glade, — 
These bring a joy which will never pass, 
A full overflowing of love in me, 
A feeling of vague expectancy. 

Mysterious stirring in the brake, 

And a shrill call running through the air; 

I never knew till this one voice spake 
That life could be so fair! 

And with a rush as when bended boughs 
Scatter white blossoms upon the earth, 
Joy, gladness, laughter, madness of mirth 

Break with a bound my soul to arouse, 

Till I stand with wide-opened wondering eyes 
Before an unfolded paradise. 

How wide the sky spreads from east to west 

With never a break in its stainless blue! 
It gives for doubt in my soul confessed 

Its own frank open view. 
How like the pain of a dream-tossed sleep 

When one wakes beneath a loving eye, 

Dissolve all fears in its clarity. 
I become part of its endless sweep, 
And boundless and breadthless it is the key 

Of its own eternal mystery! 



LARK SONG FOR THE MORNING STAR 

WILD grasses hide the silent pool 
Held in a morning twilight dream; 
Daffodils springing fresh and cool 
Make mid the green a yellow stream; 
In the pool's depths a glowing spark 
Hath charmed the eyes of a young lark 
As he watches the silver gleam. 

The lark is resting in his nest 

Among the grass and daffodils. 
His eyes have caught the pool's white guest, 

Whose lustre through the water thrills, 
Piercing the crystal with its light, 
Dimming all with its silver might, 

Till its splendour the lark's heart fills. 

Over the grasses low winds blow 

Driving the darkness toward the west; 

The lark hath seen above the east's glow 
The light that burst within his nest. 

One lithe leap on an outspread wing. 

And from a flown bird's breast doth spring 
Soaring song of joyous unrest. 

His flight is toward the dazzling star, 
Alone through heaven he wings his way; 

Snatches of song are heard afar, 
A chant to usher in the day; 

With the star will his form grow dim, 

But the rapturous heart of him 
In the clouds will forever stay! 



103 



AEGEAN ISLES 



o 



ANY ship, dear love, for any shore, 

So that it bear us through the summer sea, — 
The water's welcome to the gleaming oar, 
And then alone with thee ! 



Silently sitting at the spray-splashed prow 
Through the brave star-lit splendour of the night, 

At dawn without our eyes shall we not know 
A fair new land in sight! 



104 



SONG TO THE SPRING WIND 

THOU art swift and strong, thou art fresh and free, 
Thou hast risen up from thy revery, 
O wind! O brave bride of the surging sea! 
Thou hast burst the bonds that winter laid. 
Now thou art avenger, wrathful maid! 
Who shall gainsay thee, who shall delay thee, 
O fleet resistless might without form. 
With thy soaring heart, thy soul of storm? 
Tempest and whirlwind will thy comrades be 
When thou strik'st a mood of mockery. 

Thou wilt sweep on wild with thy hurricane 
Till the heavens are clear of the clouds of rain 

Ere ever to sleep thou wilt sink again; 
Till dawn shall disclose the lilied vale, 
And roses blooming in earth's cheeks pale; 

Awful as fate's face, fiercer than hate's pace. 

Thou wilt range through the sky bringing life, 

Triumphal, majestic, torn with strife, 

And we who are mortals shall see in thee 
The glory of immortality! 



105 



AT WALT WHITMAN'S TOMB 

DELICATE pale green flakes of light 
Softly sift through the tender leaves, 
Trembling before the dawn's young might 
That with their beauty new beauty weaves. 
The first faint far-off murmur of morn, 
Joyous and glad, from the east is borne. 
Like a human voice in a land forlorn; 
And its song is mingled with cries of flight, 
For the night is nearly worn. 

Each wave of light shows fairer things, — 

Violet vales that dreaming lie — 
Each new song that morning sings 

Wings higher and sweeps through clearer sky; 
My heart drinks deep till it cannot be 

Longer held back from full liberty. 
The restless longing of feet to be free, 
With the world's wide rim for their wanderings 

In the joy of discovery. 

Freed of bonds till I naked stand 

With the wind in my tangled hair; 
My eyes turned toward the open land 

With a wish to be everywhere; 
Each indrawn breath is a stranger thrill, 

Till all thoughts else in my soul are still, 

The hope in my heart worketh its own will: 
The flowers that lie in my upraised hand 

Shall be strewn on the sun-burst hill! 



io6 



FULFILMENT 

O'ER fields fresh as virginity 
The breeze blows sweet and strong, 
Life spreads out to infinity 
Like a glad burst of song, 
For during dawn's divinity 
Spring passed along! 



107 



PRELUDES 



To 

Lord Alfred Douglas 



AWAKENING 

LATEST and least I come to Beauty's shrine, 
Youngest and poorest in my words of praise; 
A white-robed girl now bears a grey-flecked vase 
That puts to shame these simple gifts of mine. 
Far fairer garlands than my hands could twine 
Lie on thy altar; through the woody ways 
Soft music steals, some wreath-crowned lyrist plays, 
What song of mine can reach those ears of thine? 

Yet, though unworthy of thy sacred grove. 

Let me in silence here awhile abide, — 
I surely shall not among men be missed — 

And through these very pleasant valleys rove. 
Bringing to thee the shyer flowers that hide 

As offering — thy humble eucharist! 



ELEGIAC 

O W Obiit A. D. 1881. 



D 



EAR head, too frail and fair, thou art at rest; 
White lily-soul, night made thee tremble so, 



And wearied fled'st thou from the day's hot glow. 

No tenant save of wan pain had thy breast. 

O sweetest, clearest, saddest, song's loved guest, 
Thy reedy pipe with honey tones did flow 
Not loud and great, but wistfully and low, 

Last singer in the old gods' altar-quest! 

Too shell-like was thy bark for life's rough sea, 

And rudderless it bore into the gale. 
When the dark wave did snatch thee from the air 

I hope the amber dusk fell full on thee, 
And a nereid finding young and pale. 

Smoothed out with love thy beautiful black hair. 



112 



VICTOR 

OTO launch forth on some great grand emprise. 
With spreading sails and sounding trumpet-blare, 
Drift down the tide in the still morning air, 
While half the world in dream-tossed slumber lies; 
Boldly stand out against the gold-clad skies, 
Mix with the wonder of the flame-fraught flare, 
Laugh loud with life watching the wan night wear, 
And the sad shores fade from the straining eyes! 

Mount with the wave, and vex the veering wind, 
Ride o'er the ridge, beat back the gulfing crest, 

Fling free more sail, and, chanting, forward leap 
With tireless watch the masking mist would blind, 

Yea, through the fog with an awed breathless breast, 
And view the new land rising from the deep! 



113 



SUPREME 

A HUSHED host passes by incarnadine, — 
They turn on me their large despairing eyes; 
^ The drops of blood burn in their crimson dyes, 
Flaming my veins with the fierce fire of wine. 
And I who lingering at a lonely shrine 
Heard virgin voices sing in luring wise, 
Find coming forth man's freedom dying lies, 
I cannot — and I will not give up mine! 

Nay, for I love them, and my soul runs mad 
To pierce the sullen clouds that gloom the sky. 

I could not wish a fairer death than this, 
To look up at the Galilean sad. 

Knowing the world had heard my last great cry, 
Then be betrayed by a false Judas' kiss! 



114 



DEJECTION 

BURIED in wonder with imagining, ^ 

With soul deep hushed I saw pale morning s feast, 
And heard dawn's birth-hymn in the gold-mad east. 
The thunder-throated tumult of day's king. 
And then it was the moment made to spring 
For all time and the glory, as the priest 
With light-shod crown, upon the night that ceased. 
But I held back and lost the soaring wing. 

And I who might have died upon a cross 
Must live to watch my lifeless lingermg, 

When could have been the final thing supreme; 
The fire would have been deathless. O the loss, 

Eternity of my own fashioning: 
O to have died in agony extreme! 



"5 



LAND'S END: CORNWALL 

O SISTER, I have thrown the sea aside, 
And for a moment's space its empire hold; 
Bruised and weak and hopeless I grew bold. 
With desperate hands I crushed the strangling tide. 
Breathe thou upon my joy and be its bride, 
Let me forget my soul which I have sold, 
Delude myself with this one moment's gold, 
And for the instant feel revivified! 

I cannot now endure the light of day. 
Nor may I shut my eyes against the true. 

No rest in drugged slumber would there be. 
Yet O to keep my misery at bay, 

To laugh once more and dream I still may do. 
My strength is gone. Life is too terrible! 



ii6 



FUTILITY 

THE great god Pan is dead! his fashioned reed 
Will no more pipe for merry festive ring; 
No naiad haunts the cool green sylvan spring 
While hidden eyes on her white beauty feed. 
Young Hyacinthus' wounds no longer bleed, 
Apollo has forgot that deadly fling, 
Nor recks he now of any other sting, 
For he has fled on some swift-winged steed. 

Yon ripened grain will on no altar lie, 

No pious reaper gather as of old 
The yellow wealth. Dread shapes sweep 'cross the sky 

With sable wings. Night steals the dusk's last gold. 
O that my heart of song would mount so high, 

And that my hand should be so weak and cold! 



117 



IN THE MORGUE: A DEAD VISIONARY 

A COLD corpse lay upon the marble floor, 
And asked for nothing; he was happier so. 
The long damp hair fell over his white brow. 
Gleaming like sunlight on gold-glinting ore. 
The Seine's dark bed had given up one more, 

And one whose lips had scarcely lost their glow. 
For a smile lingered, and it would not go, 
Death could not rob him of the crown he wore. 

The mad mob's curse he passed by heedlessly, 
And went his way holding a wondrous charm, 

Flaunting his faith right in the face of fear; 
And when life turned upon him with a sneer 

He smiled as one beyond the reach of harm. 
And with his dream entered eternity. 



Ii8 



UNPURSUED 

THAT moaning cry escaped unknowingly, 
Long since I ceased the stillness' might to drown, 
No other voice will break it save my own, 
And sobs but feed my sunless misery. 
Hunger choked with mirthless monotony. 

Cold sleepless nights except to heaven unknown, 
Forgotten quite upon a golden throne, 
Realmless a king for all eternity! 

Unutterable woe sits on my face, 
And at my heart dull lead of dumb despair. 

With heavy aching eyes and cheeks grown pale 
I turn my back on the last human trace, 

And now alone on through the night I fare: 
Only the dark I startled with my wail! 



IIO 



IRREMEABLE 

AS a young bride white, quivering with bliss, 
Wonderingly feels her garments fall away, 
And her heart leap its longing to obey 
When she takes full the deep rapturous kiss, 
So will the world's wail seek the dusk valleys. 
With the cold riddle that leads life astray, 
And there will burst upon the darkling day 
Beauty in her infinite loveliness! 

O joyless journey over songless hills! 

O human sobs and voices full of tears! 
O world I love so — it is all for thee. 

One wish throbs at my heart, tortures and thrills, 
To pour the honey from my jar of years. 

To bid thy tired sightless eyes to see! 



120 



CREATION 

THE poet is alone the foe of fate, 
He builds forever where brave deeds are vain; 
While men go crazed looking upon the slain 
Only his voice rings out articulate. 
Yet in itself creation is too great 
To let that one man bind it with a chain; 
It falls back mocking like the rainbow-stain 
When one grasps at the secret of its state. 

No man is final. Life laughs at us all 
Who try to pierce her heart's virginity. 

Each poet passes and another sings 

Held in the same glad self-sought martyr-thrall. 

O who would wish to unfold utterly 
The beauty and the sadness of all things! 



LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES 

Published by BROWN BROTHERS 
PINE STREET AT FIFTH, PHILADELPHIA 

THE AWAKENING OF SPRING. By Frank Wedekind. 
A tragedy of childhood, dealing with the sex question in 
its relationship to the education of children. A new edition 
just out. Cloth, gilt top, deckle edge, $1.25 net. By mail, 
$1.35. "Here is a play which on its production caused a 
sensation in Germany, and can without exaggeration be 
described as remarkable. These studies of adolescence 
are as impressive as they are unique." — The Athenaum, London. 

THE CREDITOR. By August Strindberg. Translated from 
the Swedish by Francis J. Ziegler. A psychological study 
of the divorce question by the greatest living Scandinavian 
dramatist. Cloth, $1.00 net; postage, 8 cents. "Fordringsagare" 
was produced for the first time in 1889, when it was given 
at Copenhagen as a substitute for "Froken Julie," the perform- 
ance of which was forbidden by the censor. Four years later 
Berlin audiences made its acquaintance, since when it has 
remained the most popular of Strindberg's plays in Germany. 

A DILEMMA. By Leonidas Andreiyefif. Translated from the 
Russian by John Cournos. Cloth, 75 cents net ; postage, 7 
cents. A remarkable analysis of mental subtleties as experi- 
enced by a man who is uncertain as to whether or not he is 
insane. A story that it Poe-like in its intensity and full of 
grim humor. "One of the most interesting literary studies of 
crime since Dostoieffsky's Crime and Punishment." — Chicago 
Evening Post. 

DISCORDS. A volume of poems by Donald Evans. With the 
publication of this volume must end the oft-repeated complaint 
that real English poetry is no longer being written. These 
poems have no sermon to preach, no evils to arraign, no new 



scheme of things to propound. They are poems written in the 
sincere joy of artistic creation, and they possess a compelling 
music and an abiding beauty. This poet, who is singing only 
for the pleasure of singing, in his sixty or more poems that 
make up the volume, offers vivid glimpses of the stress and 
strain of modern life. He thinks frankly, and his utterances 
are full of free sweep and a passionate intensity. Dark green 
boards, $i.oo net; postage, 8 cents. 

SWANWHITE. By August Strindberg. A Fairy Drama, trans- 
lated by Francis J. Ziegler. Printed on deckle edge paper and 
attractively bound in cloth, $i.oo net; postage, 8 cents. "A 
poetic idyl, which is charming in its sweet purity, delightful 
in its optimism, elusive in its complete symbolism, but whole- 
some in its message that pure love can conquer evil. So out of 
the cold North, out of the mouth of the world's most terrible 
misogynist, comes a strange message — one which is as sweet 
as it is unexpected. And August Strindberg, the enemy of love, 
sings that pure love is all powerful and all-conquering." — 
Springfield, Mass., Republican. 

THE WOMAN AND THE FIDDLER. A play in three acts 
by Arne Norrevang. Translated from the Norwegian by Mrs. 
Herman Sandby. Cloth, uncut edges, $i.oo net. By mail, $i.o8. 
This play is based upon one of the legends of the fiddlers who 
used to go about from valley to valley, playing for the peasants 
at their festivities. 

FOR A NIGHT. A novelette by Emile Zola. Translated from 
the French by Alison M. Lederer. $i.oo net. Postage, lo cents. 
The imaginative realism, the poetic psychology, of this story of 
the abnormal Therese who kills her lover; of the simple minded 
Julien who becomes an accessory after the fact for love of 
her, and finally "let himself fall" into the river, having first 
dropped the body of Colombel over, are gripping and intense. 
The masochism at the basis of the love of Therese and Colom- 
bel, resulting in the murder, is depicted with wonderful art 
and yet without any coarseness. The author does not moralize, 
but with relentless pen delineates that madness of Therese 
sown in her soul from birth — a madness which her convent 
training rather enhances than abrogates. The book contains 
two other typical Zola stories: "The Maid of the Dawber" 
and "Complements" — two delightful, crisp bits of literature. 



IN PREPARATION: 
FROKEN JULIE. A realistic tragedy by August Strindberg. 

A LIVING CORPSE. A drama in six acts and twelve tableaux 
by Leo. N. Tolstoi. 

MODERN AUTHORS' SERIES : 

Under this title appear from time to time short stories and 
dramas, chiefly translations from the work of modern European 
authors, each containing from 32 to 64 pages. Printed in large, 
clear type and tastefully bound in gray boards with paper label. 
Price of each volume, 25 cents net. By mail, 29 cents. Five 
volumes now ready : 

SILENCE. By Leonidas Andreiyeff. Translated from the 

Russian. Second edition. An unusual short story that reads 

like a poem in prose by the leading exponent of the new 
Russian school of novelists. 

MOTHERLOVE. By August Strindberg. Translated from the 
Swedish. An example of Strindberg's power as analyst of 
human nature. A one-act play in which the dramatist lays 
bare the weakness of a human soul. 

A RED FLOWER. By Vsevolod Garshin. A powerful short 
story by one of Russia's popular authors, unknown as yet to 
the English-speaking public. 

THE GRISLEY SUITOR. By Frank Wedekind. Translated 
from the German. An excellent story of the De-Maupassant 
type. 

RABBI EZRA AND THE VICTIM. By Frank Wedekind. 
Two sketches characteristic of the pen of this noted German 
author. 



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